[FROM THE PATIENTS]

The nurses, the darlings, the beautiful, beautiful nurses
How can we ever endeavour to praise them enough?
Only in feeble and really inadequate verses
For being so sensitive, caring and tender and tough.

The small English briar rose, pale as a fainting windflower,
Trim as a lath, with a waist two bold lovers could span,
Yet with a giggle that might ripple on for an hour,
And with blue eyes that were made to enrapture a man.

Then, from the Islands, girls equally slender and smart,
But with a skin just the colour of chocolate cream,
Eyes dark as prunes, mouths demurely designed as a heart,
Warm as Caribbean waters when swum in a dream.

And out of Africa, sometimes both scornful and proud,
Richly full-bodied and serious and strong as good wine,
Mothers who will not allow you to sink in a cloud
But share their plum-coloured beauty to help you to shine.

Little Koreans and Chinese and Japanese, Vietnamese,
Ivory cameos lacquered with black against white,
Grave-eyed North Africans, cafe au lait if you please,
Then complete opposites, platinum blondes, silver bright.

Then the young men from the chill Scandinavian spaces
Or from Caribbean sunlight, so golden or dark,
Never, in sponging us, showing uncomfortable faces,
Making us conscious of nakedness, shrivelled or stark.

Sometimes we fight with them, sometimes we make their lives stressful,
Blaming their care for the pains that our illnesses breed,
Sometimes forgetting our comfort means they are successful,
Settled in pillows and warmth we have comfort indeed.

What they can do they will do, what they can't they will tell us of
Bringing us merriment, gaiety, laughter and joy,
Warm cups of tea with some sugar or sweetener or packs of love,
Something to make us feel better: kind woman, kind boy.

Even the fearsome ones ‚ there always must be a fearsome few ‚
Wiser than doctors, so mazed if you flout them and live,
Fair ones and dark ones, though younger, much wiser than you,
Even near-bullies, they all have their jewels to give.